Changing the Graves
by The.Dragon.Singer
Summary: In which the Goblet of Fire is intelligent, Sirius Black ends up a free man, and Fred Weasley might find love and not death. Fred/OC
1. Chapter 1

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats that rose in levels around the long oval pitch. The whole stadium was practically bathed in dim golden light, coming from the stadium's woodworking itself. At either end of the pitch, fifty feet high, were three brilliantly silver hoops.

A billboard, enormous as a house, wrote advertisements in gold writing: _The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family – safe, reliable and with In-Built Anti-Burglar Buzzer… Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess-Remover: No Pain, No Stain!... Gladrags Wizardwear –London, Paris, Hogsmeade…_

Bets were being made as friends and families climbed the many stairs to their seats, chattering about winnings, fawning over the players between girls that squealed together in small clumps.

"A display from the team mascots will precede the match." Said someone as they buried their nose in the programme.

"National creatures from their native lands, you know. Very entertaining." Said another.

The Top Box, occupied currently by the Weasleys, a house-elf, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and several important Ministry wizards, was slowly filling. The Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, greeted Harry Potter like an old friend, before introducing him to a man in splendid black velvet robes trimmed in gold, who gabbled in Bulgarian when he spotted the lightening scar on the boy's forehead.

The Malfoy's joined the top box, prim and perfect, and made tense conversation with the Cornelius Fudge and the Weasleys.

The next moment, Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, charged into the Top Box, his face shining with excitement. He was –thankfully – no longer dressed in his old Wimbourne Wasps, but rather a decent set of dark robes.

"Everyone ready? Minister, ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo." Said Fudge.

Ludo Bagman whipped out his wand, directed it at his throat and said " _Sonorus_!", and then he spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over the spectators, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped and stamped their feet. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant nation anthems to the racket. The enormous blackboard across from the Top Box was wiped clean of its last message – _Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – a Risk with Every Mouthful! –_ and now showed BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO.

"And now without further ado, allow me to introduce…..the Bulgarian Team Mascots!" The right hand side of the stands, a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

A hundred Veela glided out onto the pitch. Beautiful women with white-blonde hair and skin like moonlight that began to dance to music that floated out after them. The men in the stadium made fools of themselves, and then the music abruptly stopped. Angry yells were spewing from the stadium.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice. "Kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish Nation Team Mascot!"

What seemed to be a great green and gold comet zoomed into the stadium. It did one circuit of the enormous oval, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling towards the goalposts. A rainbow arched suddenly across the pitch, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd 'oooooohed' and 'aaaaahed', as though watching fireworks. The rainbow faded and the balls fo light reunited and merged; they formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. It seemed to rain gold…and in fact this was true, golden Galleons tumbled into the stands.

The shamrock was actually compose of thousands of tiny bearded men with green waistcoats, each carrying an even smaller lamp of gold – they were leprechauns. The crowd applauded loudly, some still fighting, and others rummaging around for the gold.

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the pitch on the opposite side from the Veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov!"

A scarlet clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast that he blurred, shot out onto the pitch from an entrance at the bottom of the stadium, to the wild applause of the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand…KRUM!"

"And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaand – LYNCH!"

Seven green blurs shot onto the pitch, each riding a Firebolt – which was common knowledge to those who red Quidditch Weekly.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a fabulous moustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the pitch with his broom. A silver whistle protruded from beneath his moustache, and he carried a large wooden crate beneath his arm and his broom was beneath the other. Everyone watched closely as Mostafa mounted his broom and kicked open the crate – four balls burst into the air: the golden Snitch, two large black Bludgers, and the scarlet Quaffle, which launched high into the air and then began to fall.

"Theeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman, as one of the Irishmen took the Quaffle. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! _Dimitrov_! Back to Mullet! Troy! _Levski_! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as many at Hogwarts had never seen before. The speed of the Chasers was incredible, they were throwing the Quaffle to each other so fast the at Bagman only had time to say their names. For those who were silly enough to watch a slowed down version of the game through Omnioculars, found that the three Irish chasers executed a ' _Hawkshead Attacking Formation'_ into a ' _Porskoff Play'._

"Troy _!_ Moran! Levski! Dimitrov! Mullet! Troy- TROY SCORES! _"_

The Irish Chaser took a lap of honor for scoring the first goal of the game around the pitch, and then the game was back into motion. The match became faster still, but much more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chaser, and were starting to prevent some of their best moves.

Ivanova managed to break through their ranks, dodge the Irish Keeper, Ryan, and score Bulgaria's first goal. She punched her fist into the air as the Veela began to dance their celebration.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova – oh, I say!" One hundred witches and wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Viktor Krum and Aidan Lynch, plummeted on their Firebolts through the center of the Irish Chasers, so fast it looked like they had jumped from a Muggle aeroplane. The crowd followed their descent, squinting ahead of the pair to try and see the Snitch.

At the very last second, Krum pulled out of the dive and spiralled away. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that echoed throughout the stadium. A huge groan radiated from the Irish seats.

"It's a time out!" yelled Bagman's voice. "As trained mediwizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Aidan Lynch!"

For those viewers watching through the Omnioculars on the play-by-play settings, the words _Wronski Feint – dangerous Seeker diversion_ would have flashed across the lenses in purple writing.

Lynch, down on the ground with the mediwizards, was being revived with several cups of steaming potions. Krum was using this time to look for the Snitch with no interference. The Irish players were keeping an eye on their Seeker, but also on the Bulgarians, who looked pleased with Krum's play and were speaking amongst each other. Ivanova still had the Quaffle tucked under her arm, and she looked smug as she pushed her tightly braided hair out of her face.

Lynch got to his feet at last, prompting loud cheers from the Irish supporters, mounted his Firebolt and kicked back off into the air. His teammates straightened on their brooms, calling encouragement to the Seeker. He laughed something at them. Mostafa, the referee, blew his whistle.

With an astounding speed and dexterity, the Irish Chaser, Seamus Troy, knocked the Quaffle from Ivanova's hands and to teammate Charlotte Mullet. The Chasers moved with skill and a second wind, because after fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland pulled ahead by ten more goals. The enormous sign across from the Top Box read _Ireland: One Hundred and Thirty, Bulgaria: Ten._

The game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot towards the goalposts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under one arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Lev Zograf, flew out to meet her.

Whatever happened, likely an elbow to the head or side, led to screams of rage from the Irish crowd and Mostafa's long shrill whistle blast, which announced a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing – excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And – yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of hornets, now formed the words 'HA HA HA!' , including the exclamation point. The Veela across from them tossed their hair angrily and started to dance again. Hassan Mostafa, entranced by the Veela, had landed right in front of them and was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though it was obvious he was highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizards came tearing onto the pitch with his fingers stuffed into his ears, and kicked Mostafa in the shins. The Egyptian wizard seemed to come back to his senses, and he started shouting at the Bulgarian mascots, who now looked mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian Team Mascots!" Bagman commented. "Now there's something we haven't seen before…oh, this could turn nasty…"

Bagman was right, it did. The two Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesturing towards the leprechauns, who had rearranged themselves again; this time spelling 'HEE HEE HEE'. The game had practically stopped, Troy holding the Quaffle under his arm and the Bulgarians shifting on their brooms. Both Seekers were circling far above their teammates, searching for the Golden Snitch.

Mostafa was very obviously not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments. He was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling the Beaters to get back into the game. When they refused, he blew two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman. The Bulgarian supporters howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms…yes…there they go…and Troy takes the Quaffle-"

Gameplay now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything spectators had seen so far. Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy, the Bulgarian pair specifically did not seem to care whether their clubs hit human or Bludger.

Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!" screamed the Irish crowd as one, leaping to their feet in tidal wave.

"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran – deliberately flying to collide there – and it's got to be another penalty – yes, there's the whistle. "

The leprechauns rose into the air again, but formed a large hand with a rude gesture. The Veela lost control, flinging handfuls of brilliant blue fire as they launched themselves at the little men. Ministry wizards flooded onto the pitch to try and separate the two groups of mascots, but they had little success. The battle on the ground was nothing compared to the one in the air.

The Quaffle switched hands so fast, Bagman had a difficult time keeping up. "Levski – Dimitrov – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Ivanova – Moran again – Moran – MORAN SCORES!"

The cheers could barely be heard above the shrieking Veela, and the game recommenced immediately; Levski, with the Quaffle, passed to Dimitrov.

However, Irish Beater, Finbar Quigley, swung heavily at a passing Bludger and hit it as hard as he could towards Viktor Krum, who managed to see it coming, and shot forward out of the way.

Clara Ivanova, on the other hand, took the Bludger straight to the ribs, and was knocked off her broom. She plummeted towards the ground with a loud scream, which one of the Ministry wizards wrestling the mascots managed to notice. With a quickly placed _Arresto Momentum,_ Ivanova slid to the ground, thankfully unharmed. However, a wrongly placed foot had the Chaser tumbling into the line of fire of one of the furious Veela. Everything suddenly fell still when a blue fireball hit her in the face.

"Time out!" Bagman bellowed. "Officials are calling a time out!"

The mediwizards swarmed Ivanova and the Ministry wizards managed to herd both the leprechauns and the Veela back to their appropriate sides of the pitch. The crowds hummed with nervous energy.

One of the mediwizards brandished his wand and a bright green paper plane burst from its tip and soared to the Top Box.

"Captains Moran and Dimitrov, please come to the Top Box!" Bagman said loudly after receiving the note. The two players swooped over to the Top Box and Ludo Bagman muttered " _Quietus._ "

After several moments with the two players hovering in front of the Box, everyone could suddenly hear Bagman again.

"Chaser Clara Ivanova is unable to continue and both Captains have agreed to allow Bulgaria to use a reserve. We will take a short break to allow the Bulgarian reserve to enter the game, and allow Ivanova to receive medical attention. Captains of both teams have also agreed, along with Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and Minister of Magic Todor Oblansk, to remove both Team Mascots from the pitch due to unnecessary provocative actions and hazardous distractions."

The remaining players soared to the ground and Mostafa cast a strong Immoblius charm on the Bludgers before taking the Quaffle from Mullet, who had grabbed it after Moran had scored.

The Board whipped itself clean and returned to showing advertisements for the time being.

The Bulgarian team, minus Krum and Dimitrov, hurried over to check on Ivanova, who waved them off with a grimace toward the area their changing room was. The Irish made for their own changing room as the mascots were slowly ushered from the stadium.

* * *

"Welcome back to the Four Hundred and Twenty-Second Quidditch World Cup Finals! The score stands with Ireland leading one hundred and seventy to ten. The Irish National Team continues on with Connolly, Ryan, Troy, Mullet, Moran, Quigley, and Lynch, while the Bulgarian National Team continues with Zograf, Levski, Dimitrov, Vulchanov, Volkov, and Krum. Chaser Clare Ivanova has decided to watch the rest of the game in the Top Box before going to Saint Mungo's for treatment." Bagman's voice brought attention to the thirteen players that had retaken to the air.

"Taking Ivanova's position for the remainder of the game is – well, this is a surprise – Lilyanna Krum! For those of you who don't know her, this fine young Reserve is the youngest Krum sibling, who shows quite some talent – no doubt thanks to some training with her big brother. Here she comes now, taking to the field with the remaining Bulgarian players! Miss Krum just recently joined the Bulgarian Reserve Team this summer!"

A player clad in scarlet shot onto the pitch, arm lifted in a wave. The back of the tight-fitting robe was emblazoned in black with ' _L. Krum_ '. The Board filled with a picture of the young woman, a smirk on her aristocratic face. Viktor Krum swooped up next to her with a serious look on his surly face. She said something to him and then the pair soared in opposite directions. The Board followed Viktor Krum just long enough to see that his robes now bore ' _V. Krum_ ', before it returned the score.

Mostafa waved his wand at the two Immobilized Bludgers and tossed the Quaffle up in the middle of the two trios of Chasers.

"And Krum take the Quaffle – Dimitrov – Levski – Krum – Levski -" The pass between the Bulgarians was intercepted by the Irish…. "Moran – Mullet – Dimitrov -" …and it was just as quickly intercepted by the Bulgarians.

"Levski – Krum – Dimitrov – Levski – Dimitrov again – Krum – KRUM SCORES!"

The Reserve hurled the Quaffle past Ryan, while Volkov smacked a Bludger at the Irish Chaser Troy, who was flying to steal the Quaffle from behind. Mullet grabbed the Quaffle from its descent from behind the goal posts.

"Mullet in possession – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Moran – Dimitrov – Lev.. –Troy – back to Mullet – Mullet…. Throws and is intercepted by Zograf! Krum – Levski – Dimitrov – Mullet – Troy – Moran – Mullet – Troy – TROY SCORES!"

The Board flashed with the score: _IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY, BULGARIA: TWENTY._

"Levski with the Quaffle – Dimitrov – Levski – Krum - "

Some unknown signal between the three Bulgarian Chasers had them converging in a tight knot, which had the Omnioculars reading _Cambridge Knot – highly difficult Chaser maneuver._ The trio parted after several tense seconds of quick flying and they all soared towards the goalposts.

"Bulgaria with the Quaffle – Ryan looking nervous now - "

All three Chasers skidded to a halt in front of the hoops and reared back their arms in total synchrony. Levski, who actually had the Quaffle, hurled it forward and through the far right hoop, while Krum and Dimitrov shot forward at catch it on the opposite side.

"LEVSKI SCORES! Dimitrov – Moran – Troy – Krum -"

A well-aimed Bludger knocked the Quaffle into Lilyanna Krum's hands in the middle of a pass between the Irish Chasers.

"Krum – Levski – Krum again – Dimitrov – Krum – KRUM SCORES!"

The Irish snatched the Quaffle from the air and made a beeline for the Bulgarian hoops, passing so quickly the Bulgarian Chasers had no hope to steal.

"Mullet – Moran – Troy – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Moran – Troy – MORAN – MORAN SCORES!"

The game, now that it had calmed from the rioting Veela and the incredibly cheeky leprechauns, was far less dirty than it had been.

Zograf grabbed the Quaffle before the Irish could and smacked it to Dimitrov with the tail of his broom.

"Dimitrov – Krum – Levski – Troy – Krum – Mullet – Levski – Dimitrov -"

A narrowly dodged Bludger dropped the Quaffle to the Irish Chasers, who quickly scored again.

* * *

The match lasted another hour, the two teams racing back and forth across the pitch in a frenzy that Ludo Bagman was having trouble commentating, due to the speed they now played at.

Finally, with the score reading _IRELAND: TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY, BULGARIA: ONE HUNDRED AND TEN,_ the Snitch was spotted. Lynch noticed it first and tore into a steep dive. Krum was only a few precious seconds behind the Irish Seeker, blood gushing from a Bludger-broken nose.

The entire game practically screeched to a halt as everyone watched the two Seekers plummet for the Snitch. Three of the Chasers were still in motion, even as the stadium rose to its feet in anticipation.

Krum was drawing level with Lynch now, as the pair of them hurtled towards the ground again – it looked as though they were going to crash.

However, for the second time, it was Lynch who hit the ground with tremendous force, and was set upon by exasperated looking mediwizards.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The Scoreboard was flashing _BULGARIA: TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY, IRELAND: TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY_ across the crowd, the majority of whom didn't seem to realize what had actually happened. Slowly, as though a jumbo jet was revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder, before erupting into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" shouted Bagman, who seemed surprised at the turnout. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH, BUT IRELAND WINS – good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that! … Now, hang on one moment! Bulgaria's score seems to have been miscounted!"

The Bulgarianside of the stadium hissed and booed at Bagman.

"Gracious me! I've just been informed that Lilyanna Krum scored a goal seconds before the Snitch was captured by her big brother! My apologies, Bulgaria!"

The teams sank to the ground, and mediwizards hurried over to Krum who was being fussed over by his sister, who had an amused smirk on her face. Viktor, however, looked surlier than ever, and brushed off the mediwizards. His teammates stood or hovered around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected. The Irish players, a short way away, were practically doing a jig.

Flags were being waved all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blaring from all sides.

"And as the Irish team perform a lap of honor, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman over the noise. The Top Box magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see inside. Two panting wizards marched in carrying a large golden cup, which they handed to Minister Fudge.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers – Bulgaria!"

Up the stairs into the Box came the seven defeated players, who met Ivanova with disappointed grimaces. One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats into the Box.

"Ivanova!" Bagman called as the Chaser shook hands with both Ministers. "Levski! Dimitrov! Zograf! Vulchanov! Volkov! Krum and Krum!"

Viktor looked a real mess. He had two black eyes that were already blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. However, when the Krums were announced, the whole stadium gave them a resounding, ear-splitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly, and he looked a bit dazed and unfocused. But he still grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air.

The crowd thundered their approval below.

Finally, when the Irish team left the box to preform another lap of honor on their brooms (Lynch on the back of Connolly's), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered ' _Quietus'_.


	2. Chapter 2

_**DAILY PROPHET**_

 **Scenes of Terror at the Quidditch World Cup**

 _By Rita Skeeter_

Thousands of the magical community had gathered in anticipation for the final game of the Quidditch World Cup just last night, but they were not expecting such terror in the aftermath. A group assailants stormed the campground, levitating a Muggle attendant and his family in front of them in a show of what could only be described as hideous! The Ministry blunders extended not only to the culprits not being apprehended and lax security for allowing this group to disturb the peace but having Dark wizards running around is a national disgrace! More than half of the campground was razed to the ground and the damage to the tents of many wizarding families, both foreign and national, will cost a heavy Galleon.

Amongst the mayhem of this attack, in which several were injured, from the forest bordering the campsite, someone released the Dark Mark, ( _pictured above_ ).

If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.

* * *

 **DAILY PROPHET**

 _SPORTS SECTION; THIRD PAGE_

 **Ireland Wins Quidditch World Cup: The Shocking Outcome**

 _By Odrick Dougal_

Spectators of the Quidditch World Cup, hosted by Great Britain, were on the edge of their seats during this fantastical finale. Ireland's teamwork, which they are well-known for, has never been better than against the Bulgarians. Within the first half hour of the match, Ireland had scored over one hundred points, putting them in the lead for the game, versus Bulgaria's meager ten points.

Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, executed a Wronski Feint that had Irish Seeker, Aidan Lynch, seeking medical attention from the mediwizards on standby, while he himself rolled out of the highly dangerous move with no damage. That is not to say that Bulgaria escaped without injuries. After the team mascots, (Bulgaria's Veela and Ireland's leprechauns), fell into violent rioting, Irish Beater, Finbar Quigley, scored a lucky hit to Bulgarian Chaser Clara Ivanova, which incapacitated her, with the help of a stray fireball, to the point she sought medical attention later at Saint Mungo's Hospital. Healer Stoneheart has informed the Daily Prophet that Ivanova is doing just fine, and thanks to all her fans for the support.

With Ivanova unable to resume play, and the pressure on, Bulgaria brought in Reserve Chaser, Lilyanna Krum. Lilyanna Krum, is, of course, related to Victor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. For such a relatively new Chaser, Lilyanna Krum worked seamlessly with full-time Chasers Levski and Dimitrov. The mascots, having been the cause of one of Ivanova's injuries, were escorted off the pitch, before the game resumed. Ludo Bagman, who was commentating, had trouble keeping up with the game, now so quickly paced that the two teams were only blurs in the sky. Bulgaria quickly got another goal followed in succession by Ireland bring the score to one hundred eighty – twenty.

The match, with the score, reading Ireland: Two Hundred and Ninety - Bulgaria: One Hundred and Ten, finally had an end in sight when Irish Seeker Aidan Lynch spotted the Snitch. Both Seekers suddenly tore into what looked like another Wronski Feint, with very similar outcomes. Aidan Lynch hit the ground while Bulgarian Seeker Victor Krum rose victorious into the air with the Snitch.

But how did Ireland win, if Krum got the Snitch?

Ireland, with a score of Two Hundred and Ninety, soundly annihilated Bulgaria's score of Two Hundred and Seventy (a last-second score by Lilyanna Krum raised Bulgaria's tally by one point), leading to Ireland's win of the Four Hundred and Twenty-Second Quidditch World Cup!

Congratulations Ireland!

* * *

 **DAILY PROPHET**

 _LETTERS; PAGE FOUR AND FIVE_

 _Answered by Zamira Gulch and Grizel Hurtz_

 _HOW MUCH REVENGE IS SAFE? – reader wanting to transfigure brother's children after receiving cursed broomstick._

 _MAKING IT STICK – problems with a Fixing Charm._

 _I'M TURNING PURPLE – colourful and alarming symptoms explained._

 _HE SAYS HE HATES ME – witch wants to use Love Potion._

 _CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENTS; PAGE SIX_

 _JOBS_

 _-WANTED: Hit witch or wizard for Magical Law Enforcement Squad_

 _-Assistant Manager at Flourish and Blotts_

 _-Junior Potions Mixer at Madam Primpernelle's Salon_

 _-Dragon Feeders for Gringotts Bank_

 _-Secretary for Society for the Tolerance of Vampires_

 _FOR SALE_

 _-Broomstick, Shooting Star – send owl_

 _-Broomstick, Silver Arrow -send owl_

 _-Second-hand cauldrons at Mandy's Cauldron Shoppe_

 _-Second-hand Quidditch balls – send owls to angry girlfriend_

 _LONELY HEARTS_

 _-Shy sorcerer seeks wicked witch_

 _-Warlock into Transfiguration seeks like-minded companion_

 _-Quiet witch seeks non-bat owning wizard_

 _-Crazy sorceress seeks wacky wizard_

 _-Angry witch seeks temporary boyfriend to get back at fiancé_


	3. Chapter 3

Hogwarts was buzzing with excitement. The sign announcing the arrival of the two foreign schools had the inhabitants of the castle scurrying around with whispers on their lips, all on one topic: The Triwizard Tournament. Rumors flew between students about who might try for Hogwarts' champion, what the tournament would involve, and how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.

The castle itself seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Flitch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense, reprimanding students left and right over their skills and mannerisms. Neville Longbottom, in particular, seemed to be the focus of this for the Fourth Years.

When the students arrived for breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found the Great Hall had been decorated overnight with enormous silk banners that hung from the walls, depicting a Hogwarts House each: red with a gold lion, blue with a bronze eagle, yellow with a black badger, and green with a silver serpent. Behind the staff table was the largest of the banners, emblazoned with the Hogwarts coat of arms.

The feeling of anticipation hung in the air all day. Nobody was very interested in their lessons, as they were far more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. When the bell rang early, there was a mad rush to return bags and books to specific dorm rooms and change into their cleanest robes and cloaks, before they had to rush back to the entrance hall.

The Heads of the four Houses were ordering their students into lines, before leading them onto the expansive lawn in front of the enormous front doors.

The evening was cold and clear, and a pale, transparent-looking moon shone over the Forbidden Forest. Many eyes scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent and quiet as usual.

From the back, Albus Dumbledore called, "Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where!?" cried many of the students eagerly.

"There!" yelled Sixth year, pointing over the forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick, was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, and growing steadily larger.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked a first year.

"Don't be stupid!" said a Gryffindor boy. "It's a flying house."

As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw an enormous powder-blue horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring towards them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.

The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled lower and passed them, coming to land at a tremendous speed. Hagrid, the groundskeepers, had to leap out of the way before he was squashed into a pancake. The horses all tossed their heads and rolled their large fiery red eyes. The door of the carriage bore a golden coat of arms; two crossed wands emitting three stars.

The carriage settled onto its wheels and a strange, oddly eerie noise drifted toward the Hogwarts students from the darkness. It was a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed….

"The lake! Look at the lake!"

From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, the students of Hogwarts had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water – except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; mammoth bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks, and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor.

What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool. Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, dripping in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, and dim misty lights shimmered at its portholes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and white sails patterned with old-style red dragons unfurled themselves as the ship glided toward the bank. The splash of an anchor echoed up to them and Dumbledore once again spoke up.

"Let's all head back inside, settle ourselves at our House tables, and let our guests get settled."

The students quickly retreated into the Entrance Hall and then further into the Great Hall, where they seated themselves at their tables and turned to their Headmaster when he approached the podium in front of the staff table.

"Now that we're all settled in and sorted," He chuckled a little at the joke. "I'd like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year but home to our guests as well. The Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school a single student is selected to compete. Now let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint-hearted. But more of that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely students of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!"

The heads of all the students turned to the Great Hall doors as they squeaked open.

"And their Headmistress, Madame Maxime."

A dozen girls in pale blue silk marched delicately into the Great Hall, pausing after several steps and sighing elegantly towards the Hufflepuff table. They returned to their upright positions and took several more steps, then sighed towards the Gryffindor table. The girls flounced in sure dance-like movements to the front of the hall, and sighed again, extending both their arms to release several magical butterflies. They pranced past one another with perfect timing.

Behind them were another dozen students, boys this time, also dressed in pale blue silk, but the boys wore finely tailored grey slacks that pulled tight against their legs as they spun and leapt their way towards their female counterparts, sending up butterflies as they all came to a halt at the front of the room. They were followed by an acrobatic young man who flipped his way to the front and a young blonde girl who spun perfectly to a halt in a curtesy.

The Beauxbatons students were all followed by largest woman anyone had ever seen. She was handsome, with olive-toned skin, large liquid-black eyes, and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was cut into a stylish bob, and she was dressed from head to foot in black satin, while many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

The students all gave a bow or curtsey, and the Hogwarts students cheered loudly as the French school moved to stand out of the way, while Dumbledore personally led their Headmistress to her seat at the staff table. He held up his hands once he returned from seating the large woman, and quieted his students.

"And now, our proud friends from the North," He called. "Please greet the sons and daughters of Durmstrang, and their Headmaster Igor Karkaroff."

The students turned to the open doors as the Durmstrang students, dressed in warm red uniforms and furred hats, strode into the Great Hall with carved staffs that shot sparks from their bottoms when they were slammed onto the stone floor.

With what classified as manly cry, the Durmstrang students, both male and female, switched the poles to the opposite hands and banged them on the ground once, and then twice more. They stopped with militaristic precision and lifted their staffs horizontally, spun them several times and then banged them on the ground again. Several of the students placed their staves on the ground and took off in a very impressive series of powerful flips and acrobatics, completely different from the Beauxbatons boy from before because theses students oozed power rather than grace. One of the girls doing tricks back flipped over another from where she was standing, and as one, the students all turned to look at the doors again.

Striding forward with purpose came three figures, two in the front and one behind. The two in the front were incredibly recognizable, even dressed in their red-brown uniforms trimmed with dark fur, rather than the scarlet of the other uniforms they had been seen in lately.

"Blimey." Said one of the Gryffindors to his friend, and this echoed over the table from several students. "It's them. The Krums."

Behind the Krums came their Headmaster, dressed in white robes trimmed with silvery fur. Dumbledore jumped a little as a pair of Durmstrang students blew dramatically on the ends of their wands and fire spewed around the front of the great hall, taking the form of a phoenix that flapped its wings once, and then exploded into a shower of flames, along with the staves of the students.

"Albus." Karkaroff greeted the man with a strong accent and a pat on the back before he nodded to his students and took his seat. The Durmstrang students moved to the side of the hall as Dumbledore swept forward.

"Hogwarts," He called, lifting his arms. "Let's entertain our friends in the best way we can! All stand."

The British students, all dressed in black, rose loudly to their feet.

"Maestro, please." Their headmaster called, turning, and brandishing his wand. A banner appeared in the air above the staff table, and golden writing appeared on it.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts," The students began to sing, all in different tempos and pitches. The Beauxbatons students exchanged looks and tried not to wrinkle their noses. The Durmstrang students all carefully maintained blank faces, but several were obviously fighting off sniggers and whispering to the people next to them.

"Teach us something please, whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees. Our heads could do with filling, with some interesting stuff, for now, they're bare and full of air,"

All it took was one suppressed snort from somewhere between the Beauxbatons boys and the Durmstrang folks and the French girls dissolved into titters as the Hogwarts students started waving their arms in the air in badly synchronized movements.

"Dead flies and bits of fluff. So, teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest and learn until our brains all rot."

It was the Durmstrang who started the half-hearted polite clapping, all with shared looks of barely veiled amusement. The Beauxbatons students joined in, obviously only to be polite and not at all because they enjoyed the show.

"Thank you." Dumbledore made his way back to the staff table. "Please take your seats. Our students would happy host you at their tables!"

Karkaroff motioned his students towards the Slytherin table, and all of them immediately made their way to the far side of the Great Hall. The Beauxbatons students shuffled amongst themselves and then, as a group, made their way to sit with the Ravenclaws.

* * *

Lilyanna Krum was used to the stares that followed her and her brother everywhere they went. Being stared at when they entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts was no big deal. It was still a bit unnerving when the students around her stared when she sat down and glanced over to check her older brother.

Viktor sniffled as he sat, looking surly as per usual. The Hogwarts students at the table with red ties all looked disappointed when they sat where they did.

Petrov, one of Viktor's dormmates, picked up one of the golden plates and turned it back and forth so that it caught the light of the many candles that floated above them. Maria, her own dormmate, was focused on the enchanted ceiling that showed many rain-laden clouds drifting overhead.

Frankly, besides the ceiling, both Lilyanna and Viktor were unimpressed. Hogwarts was drafty and, while they were used to the cold, was a bit chilly. The British school of magic was underprepared to host them, in her opinion. Durmstrang had been practicing their entrance since the small group of them were chosen to attend the Tournament.

"Hello." Lilyanna was drawn from her observations by the boy across from her. His platinum blond hair was slicked back out of his face, and his robes and tie were carefully pressed and done up properly. "The name's Draco. Draco Malfoy."

Viktor and Lilyanna traded a look at the introduction, and then focused back on the Malfoy heir. They knew who he was.

"I am Lilyanna," The Durmstrang girl supplied the boy, who more than likely already knew who they were, judging by the look on his face and the gleam in his eyes. "And this is my brother, Viktor."

"Yes," Draco nodded, looking smug. "The famous Krum siblings."

" _He's looking for attention_." Viktor murmured to her in Bulgarian.

" _Obviously_." She replied monotonously, shrugging a shoulder at her brother.

Headmaster Dumbledore, standing at the head of the room, waved his arms for silence.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests." He said, beaming at the those not from his own school. "I have the great pleasure of welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the Beauxbatons girls let out a derisive and not entirely quiet laugh at this statement, shivering in her blue silk dress.

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast." Dumbledore continued. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Lilyanna raised a brow as the tables all magically filled with food and the Hogwarts students began reaching for the serving spoons and ladles. Both she and Victor were well-versed in European cuisine from all over, having to travel for Quidditch and all, but she still favored those Bulgarian familiarities from home, like musaka. Of which, there was currently a dish sitting in front of her, next to what appeared to be a bowl of bouillabaisse. Viktor made a noise deep in his throat and Lilyanna chuckled at him, spooning the seafood stew into a bowl and placing on his plate. He shot her an exasperated look, but snatched a piece of bread from the basket slightly down the table and hunkered over his stew.

The Krum girl nodded in satisfaction and turned to her own full plate, eyeing what the Malfoy boy was drinking with interest. It's distinctly orange color reminded her of pumpkins.

"It's pumpkin juice." The boy next to Malfoy said, smiling a bit dumbly. "We drink it all the time here! Do you want some?"

He began reaching for a pitcher that was obviously out of his reach, and Lilyanna wrinkled her nose, straightening her back. "No. Just water is fine."

"Yeah, Goyle." Malfoy drove an elbow into the boy's ribs. "Get Lilyanna Krum some water."

"He's awfully bossy," Maria commented, watching Petrov with slightly glassy eyes. She spooned some sort of creamy soup into her mouth without really watching.

" _It's how he was raised_ ," Lilyanna replied, shrugging off her fur coat. " _He's one of those_."

" _Oh_." Maria's face fell into a scowl and she straightened to sit properly. Several of the Durmstrang students who had overheard the conversation glanced in their direction with slightly narrowed eyes. Blood purity, while a huge deal in England, was less of a deal in Bulgaria and it's surrounding countries. They had been well removed from the so-called "First Wizarding War" nestled in their homes and at school. There had been some bigots who had noticed these ways and had started hate-groups. They were either ignored or eradicated through legal – or not so legal – means.

Maria was a Muggleborn witch and was one of the loveliest people you could ever meet, but she'd been bullied the first several years at Durmstrang for this reason. It had been quickly put an end to.

Dessert quickly followed dinner, and Viktor grumbled at his sister until she relented and gave him what he wanted, which was an enormous heaping plate of apple crumble and ice cream. She gave it to him despite the head cold he was suffering from. There was little conversation on the Durmstrang side of the table they sat at, but the Slytherins – that's what they named themselves with great pride – spoke often of everything and anything that seemed impressive to them, most of which was a bore.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore rose from his seat and sent the hall into blissful silence. Lilyanna's tense shoulders relaxed at the lack of noise from the Slytherins across from them.

Tension seemed to fill the hall, though not unpleasant. A thrill of excitement wove through many of the students gathered and many stared at the wizened wizard with an immense amount of concentration.

"The moment has come," he said, smiling at everyone. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mister Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation,"

A smattering of polite applause echoed through the chamber when Dumbledore paused.

"And Mister Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was more applause for the portly grinning man then there had been for Mister Crouch, likely due to his previous fame of being the Beater for the Wasps, back in his day.

"Mister Bagman and Mister Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

Lilyanna almost chuckled when the word 'champions' came out of Dumbledore's mouth because many of the listening students sharpened their attention at this.

"The casket, then, if you please, Mister Filch." A ratty looking man came forward from the corner where he had been skulking, carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked immensely old and very heavy. Murmurs of excitement rose from the watching students.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman," Dumbledore said as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table in front of the old wizard. "And they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many ways… their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks, and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champion will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

From his sleeve, Dumbledore drew his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the embellished chest. The lid creaked open slowly, and the students all leaned forward with anticipation. The Hogwarts Headmaster reached in and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. Had it not been filled with dancing blue-white flames, the cup would have been entirely unremarkable. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on the top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet." Said the man. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete."

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

The Krum girl felt her face split into a grin, and she slapped her hand against her brother's bicep excitedly. He frowned heavily at her, but his eyes flickered to the Goblet again with interest.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete… that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obligated to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name into the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all!"

" _I'm going to do it_ ," Lilyanna announced to her fellow students of Durmstrang. They all turned to look at her with expressions that ranged from annoyed to exasperated. " _I'm going to enter my name for the tournament._ "

" _I think we all are,"_ Petrov replied to her. " _Except Maria and Claude; they are both too young_."

" _Which is unfair, I think."_ Claude, a gangly boy with shaggy hair and a goatee, spoke up. He was one of the smartest students of Durmstrang, having skipped a grade. He was only fifteen, but likely knew more spells than Petrov and Maria, both of whom were top of their class. " _This Tournament should be available to those who have learned the equivalent syllabus of a European sixth-year_."

" _It makes sense, though,"_ Viktor interjected, shrugging on his fur coat and sniffling. " _Seventeen is the legal age of an adult wizard. By setting the age limit to seventeen, those Ministry people in charge of the Tournament are ensuring that no legal repercussions are taken by parents, because – again – legally, they cannot do anything about their adult child making these kinds of decisions._ "

Petrov dropped a hand onto the Quidditch star's shoulder with a loud laugh that jolted several of the British girls out of their intense conversation at the table behind the Slytherin one. " _There you go again, Viktor! Stop being so smart!_ "

"Back to the ship, then," Karkaroff said as he bustled towards them. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens? And you, Lilyanna? Do you need a warmer coat? Did you eat well?"

The pair of Krums shook their heads and stood, fluffing their coats out and exchanging looks, as they often did.

"Professor, _I_ would like some wine." Said one of the others.

"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff." Snapped Karkaroff, the warm and slightly overbearing paternal air vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy…."

Their headmaster gestured abruptly for them to follow and led them towards the doors. A trio of students with red ties – Gryffindors, per their new Slytherin friends – stopped to let them all pass.

"Thank you," Karkaroff said carelessly, and then glanced down at the boy. He stopped mid-step, turned his head, and stared like he couldn't believe his eyes. Behind him, the Durmstrang's students came to a halt. Lily and Viktor watched as their headmaster's eyes traveled up the black-haired boy's face to the scar that poked out of his messy bangs.

" _That's Harry Potter."_ Lily murmured to her brother, tilting her head a bit. Viktor hummed at her in response, blinking down at her with tired eyes.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter." A growling voice said from behind the students of Durmstrang. Karkaroff spun around. A man was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, and a magical eye glaring unblinkingly at their headmaster. Curiously, the color in Karkaroff's face drained and a terrible look of both fear and fury crossed his features.

"You!" he cried.

"Me," said the man grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."

This statement was true. Half of the students in the Hall were now waiting behind the Durmstrang students, who had the decency to look a little ashamed at taking up so much space. Without another word, Headmaster Karkaroff swept away with the rest of Durmstrang following.

Their swift descent to their ship was punctured only by the sound of the waves on the shore and their boots in the gravel along the beach. Karkaroff counted each of the students as they passed up the gangplank and then quickly followed up, glancing over his shoulder only once.

" _To bed with you_." The man called over his shoulder as he vanished into the captain's cabin at the far end of the ship. Several partly transparent ghosts floated back and forth conversing with one another in soft tones, but many nodded at the students and bade them a good night's rest. The Durmstrang students scurried down into the belly of the ship hanging up their coats on the enchanted coat rack by the ladder down. Viktor and his sister were the last two down, conversing quietly about their parents and what they should write in a letter home.

" _You are going to put your name in the Goblet too_?" Lily called up to her brother from the bottom of the ladder.

" _Yes_ ," Viktor replied, sliding down the ladder with a faint grin on his usually surly face. He pulled her under his arm and ruffled her always messy black hair. " _I have to keep you from getting all the glory, you know._ "

" _Get off, you!"_


End file.
